


Winter's Song

by ARW1860



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire, Asoiaf - Fandom, GoT - Fandom, game of thrones
Genre: Angst, But mostly angst, F/M, Fluff, Multi, genderbent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-27
Updated: 2015-04-29
Packaged: 2018-03-25 23:36:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3829075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ARW1860/pseuds/ARW1860
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Winter is Coming</i>. <i>Family, Duty, Honor</i>. Stark and Tully.</p><p>But, what if the honorable Lord Eddard Stark and the motherly Lady Catelyn Tully's roles were reversed?</p><p>Lady Eddara Stark and Lord Caleyn Tully are engaged to be wed, but with looming tension between the Seven Kingdoms and their Mad King and the outbreak of the Rebellion, their relationship, already on thin ice, must endure the threat of separation, the consequences of the Rebellion, and a child named Jon Snow. A direwolf and a trout, a lady of ice and a lord of the rivers. This is not a song of ice and fire--this is a song of winter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_**T**_ he clash of swords rang out in the yard, the metallic sound crisp in the chilly air that existed in the high mountains the Jon Arryn called home. The entirety of the yard was filled with young men, all wearing light armor, their fathers or uncles or the master of arms calling out orders to watch their step or to defend with the edge of the blade, not the flat. One youth was knocked flat, swearing as he tried to get back up, but no one was truly watching their exchange. All eyes had shifted across the square to where a giant of a man was laughing, lifting his warhammer high above his head and swinging down, not bothering to check the blow as it shattered his smaller enemy's wooden shield to pieces. Splinters of wood scattered, one long sliver landing at the feet of the lord of the keep himself, but neither Jon Arryn nor his second ward, seated to his left, even blinked. They were long used to Robert Baratheon's near-inhuman strength and the joy he took from scuffles, fist fights, and melees.

Cool grey eyes watched the Baratheon heir carefully, noting the wide grin etched into his face, bright blue eyes glittering beneath black brows as he swung his hammer again, this time softening his blow just enough to avoid killing the poor boy pitted against him, but not enough to keep him from being knocked flat, winded. Robert laughed again, turning to his guardian and his fellow ward and raising his hammer as if to strike again.

A challenging brow quirked over Stark grey eyes, almost daring him to lay further harm to the defeated enemy. For a moment, the two were locked in a stalemate until Jon Arryn cleared his throat.

"Enough, Robert. One more blow like that and you'll kill him." Robert relented with a frown and the Northerner snorted, eyes rolling before focusing again on the work in their owner's hands. Nimble fingers carefully tucked a stray lock of chocolate brown hair behind an ear, the other hand reaching for a tool well worn and in need of a good sharpening.

"You need not prove your strength anymore, Robert. No man alive doubts it and no fool wishes to see it displayed any longer."

Robert turned to face the speaker who would dare undermine him, trying to make his eyes hard and his face twisted in anger, but failed, laughter booming forward instead. The huge man visibly shook with his mirth and the sight of it even brought a slight smile to Jon's lips. "Neddie, you're no damned fun at all."

Eddara Stark looked up from the needle in her lap and quirked a brow again. She had always been able to keep a smile off of her face until she so desired it, and even now, teasing her closest friend, her face remained plain, but her eyes sparked with humor.

"You've told me so. Many times."

Robert's laughter rang out again and he stepped out from the practice yard to come tower over her. She was not intimidated; her only reaction was the wrinkling of her nose at the scent of sweat and boiled leather that clung to his skin like perfume. "If you weren't a woman, I'd call you down into that fucking pit and show you some fun!"

"I thank the gods that I am a woman, then," Neddie retorted, "if your sense of fun is knocking your opponent into the dust."

Jon's lips twitched up, but he didn't speak. He hardly interrupted their discussions, arguments, and teasing. He had long since learned that, despite her quiet nature and soft-spoken words, Neddie Stark could be as fierce as the sigil of her House. The young woman lifted her chin proudly, recalling the same. Robert Baratheon knew better than to cross her. They had been eight when they met, nothing but children sent to the Vale as wards, Neddie to learn to run a Southern household and Robert how to govern a keep, but the first time the stag had made a remark of her sex, Neddie had snapped like a direwolf in a trap.

_"I may be a woman, but I will not be the object of ridicule, my lord."_ She had been a little thing, brown curls tied back from her face with grey silk ribbons, but her grey eyes were as hard as ice and just as cutting. Robert, almost a full head taller than her even then, had took a startled step back. _"I am Lady Eddara Stark of Winterfell and I will not be bullied by the likes of you, Robert Baratheon."_

Unbeknownst to them, the young girl had turned with all the grace a child could muster and stormed off, but the moment the door to her chamber was closed and locked, she burst into tears. She missed Winterfell, she missed her father and Brandon and baby Benjen and Lyanna most of all. An hour later, Robert Baratheon, humbled, knocked on her door and apologized. A friendship had been struck up between the two, one that had lasted the last ten years with few snags or frightful fights. Neddie had done her best to tame the violent and passionate outbursts of her friend while Robert had pushed and prodded her out of the shy child she had been to the more welcoming woman she was now.

And now, with Robert standing above her and grinning, Neddie simply shrugged him off and reached for the basket at her feet for the silver thread. Her friend snorted, but she didn't let his amusement at her menial task interrupt it. She wetted the end of the thread and slipped it through the needle's eye before plunging the point into the velvety fabric in her hands.

"You've been working on that fucking thing for months, Neddie!" Robert huffed.

Her brow quirked again, but this time she stayed silent. She _had_ been working steadily on the embroidery for weeks on end, bringing the pieces with her everytime she had time to sit. It was an important tradition, she knew, so she dedicated most of her free time to its completion. But what she also knew was that the cloak that would be draped over her shoulders on her wedding day was usually finished by the bride and her female relatives. Her lady mother had died when Neddie was still a small child, but here, in the Vale, her sister was miles and miles away, as were any sort of cousin or even a friend.

The worst part about being Jon Arryn's ward under her father's wishes was that Neddie was surrounded day and night by men. The women had their own little circles and groups of friends and they had no place for a lady of the North in their midst. She guessed that most of the men, especially in the yard, did not enjoy her presence among them, but not one of them dared to rise Robert Baratheon's ire by saying so.

But, more than anything, embroidering a silver direwolf onto the soft white cloak made Neddie more homesick than ever. She longed for Winterfell's grey stone walls, the high towers where she, Brandon, and Lyanna used to play in. She missed the hot springs that could be felt being pumped through the walls, the garden filled with winter roses and blanketed with snow. She missed the blood red leaves of the weirwood tree, the Heart Tree, where she used to sit beneath to say her prayers in the Godswood. Her heart ached for her siblings; for Lyanna's laughter, Benjen's shy smile, and Brandon's rough hands tousling her hair. She yearned for her father's stern glance that would soften slightly when she matched it in all its intensity. She wanted to go home, just once, before she was to be married.

With a sigh almost too soft to hear, Neddie continued her steady work, tiny silver stitches soon making the direwolf's teeth and swallowing hard as she thought again of what lay before her. She was eighteen, but her courage faltered at the thought of the bedding ceremony and marrying a man she did not even know. Her father had changed his mind, he had said the last time a raven from Winterfell had arrived, some months ago. She was not to stay in the Vale for much longer; her lord husband would be some other southern lord, but he had not told her which.

So she grew steadily more nervous as the days went by and no word came from home bearing the news she partly didn't want to hear and, yet, at the same time, could finally rest easy in knowing.

"Lord Arryn?" Jon turned, as did Neddie and Robert, to see the Keep's Maester hobbling out to the yard, a small slip of paper clutched in his wrinkled hands. "A raven, my lord, just arrived moments ago."

The aging lord nodded, extending his hand to receive it.

The Maester, puffing slightly with the effort it took him to come all this way, shook his head and took a deep breath before speaking. "It is not for you, my lord, but for Lady Stark."

Neddie blinked, squaring her shoulders and ignoring the hammering of her heart. This was the word she had been waiting for, the knowledge she had longed for and feared at the same time. She took the paper with a soft "thank you" and unfurled it, but it was not what she had expected. Not at all.

"What? What is it, Neddie?" Robert asked, leaning forward, a bead of sweat rolling down his nose as he craned his neck to see what had been scrawled out on the parchment.

"My father is coming here," she answered, brow furrowing before she looked up, meeting Jon Arryn's eyes. "He writes to say that he will arrive shortly, with Lyanna. He wants to speak with you, Jon." And that did not appease any of her worries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ And thus begins the tale.
> 
> I've had this idea for forever, but only now have really been comfortable posting it! I'm actually really proud of this and reviews/comments would be great! ]


	2. Chapter 2

_**R**_ obert Baratheon's booming voice rang out over hills and mountains at least once a day; "Winter is coming and so are the Starks!" His laugh followed almost immediately, yet, in the days since the raven carrying Lord Rickard Stark's letter had arrived, hardly anyone other than the heir to Storm's End had the time to laugh.

For the first time in weeks, Neddie set aside her sewing and threw herself into the thick of the preparations. She spent long afternoons with Jon's steward, counting the candles and barrels of ale and snatching back the bottles she caught Robert trying to smuggle out of the cellar. She wrote two dozen letters to the obscure bannermen that Jon Arryn was too busy to reach out to, using his seal and asking them to join the rest of the welcoming party. She stole into the kitchens and oversaw the preparations of pies and cakes, breads and cheeses, but, more often than not, her job was to chase away the men, most of whom came in from the yard and, catching the first whiff of sweets and simmering meats, crowded at the doorways in an attempt to flirt and wheedle their way into an early supper.

Her first duties as a lady, it seemed, had landed the chaos of planning an upcoming feast almost entirely onto her shoulders. And, yet, despite the anxiety and stomach churning nervousness she usually felt at banquets, the uneasiness she had always experienced, ever since she was a little girl, Neddie was finally comfortable. She enjoyed leading the household in the tasks. Organizing and sorting the figures for the stores helped to put her mind at ease.

She supposed it was only because her father and sister were coming. If she had been preparing for any other lord, she would be regularly pinching the bridge of her nose and pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes until she saw stars. But she knew her father, she knew her sister. She knew how many sweet rolls and how many skewers of lamb had to be made. She was organizing the Eyrie as if it were Winterfell and, finally, for a moment at least, she stopped missing home.

A week into the preparations, a quill in her hands and ink on her fingers as she scribbled down the final tally of wine, candles, and chairs that had been found for the feast, her maid rushed into her study in a flurry of skirts and tussled hair.

"Milady, I mean no offense by just comin' in without knocking but, but--!" Her maid, Jessa, placed a hand over her heart and heaved a dramatic breath. The woman was almost twice Neddie's age, a short, heavy set woman who had never married and spent her days fussing over the hem of her mistress' dresses, was prone to theatrics in jest, but this... this was something far more serious. Jessa didn't often break the rules, even the unspoken ones such as barging in unannounced, without a pressing reason.

"What is it?" Neddie asked as politely as she could manage, hiding her worry behind a mask of indifference as she had been taught to do. A lady did not speak out of turn and she did not let the smallfolk she led see her doubts and fears. A lady was calm, steady.

"Lord Rickard was seen on the road that leads to the Bloody Gate!" Jessa gasped, fanning her face and turning white. "He will be here by tomorrow for sure, milady!"

"Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow!"

A frown tugged her lips down but, apart from that, Neddie did not let her distress show. Instead, she took a new sheet of parchment, dipping her quill into the ink and scratching out the final sum of numbers before signing her name with a quick flick of her wrist. She didn't have the time to seal it--instead, she simply folded it and handed it to Jessa, her voice calm.

"Take this to Lord Arryn's steward and apologize on my behalf. On your way back, would you ask the maids to draw a bath for me? If my father is coming tomorrow--"

"You must look befitting of your title, milady," the maid finished, taking the letter in her plump fingers, curtseying, and darting back out of the room. Neddie sat back in her chair and wiped the ink from the nib, closing her pot of ink and sighing. Tomorrow.

Tomorrow came faster that she thought it should have, but everything was ready, thank the Gods. The preparations were finished, the food kept safe from dogs and men alike by some of the maids who stayed near the kitchens while the lords and ladies gathered in the sparing yard turned courtyard.

Neddie stood up straight and still, chin held high. The presentation of children, or wards, in this case, was universal all over Westeros. Everyone stood in a line, not speaking unless spoken to, and bowing or curtseying when introduced.

She swallowed, keeping her eyes focused on some distant point across the courtyard, grey eyes shining in the pale light of mid-morning. Beside her, Robert yawned, swearing under his breath. She could feel the eyes of the rest of the household, from the lady wives of the bannermen sworn to House Arryn to the cooks standing at the back of the column of the crowd, on her, knowing how greatly she stood out from them.

She may have been raised to run a Southern household, to play the part of a Southern lady, but Eddara Stark was a woman of the North. Her hair, unlike all the other women gathered, was only pulled back from her face while long, silky chocolate curls fell down over her shoulders and down her back in the Northern style. Her gown was cut in a Southern style, but it was of grey silk and trimmed only with glittering white embroidery on the wide sleeves and hem. She was dressed in the colors of winter to welcome her father and sister to the Vale. Winter is coming and she displayed it proudly. She was a Stark--mayhaps not for long, but she would show pride in her House until she took her lord husband's banner and his words.

After standing for what seemed to be hours, a guard announced the arrival of Lord Rickard Stark of Winterfell, Warden of the North, and his daughter, the lady Lyanna. Neddie's heart swelled and she fidgeted while she waited, eager to see her father's long stern face and her sister's laughing eyes. She had missed them more than she had ever thought and, though she wrote to them often, it was simply not the same.

The Lord of Winterfell entered the room, his cloak lined with soft fur, the sigil of their House etched into the clasps that held it in place, his face hard and weathered. Rickard Stark had a reputation of being as cold as the land he ruled. They said there was ice in his veins and his heart was as guarded as the Wall. They said it of Neddie as well.

There was a great likeness between them, Neddie knew. She was more like her father than any of her siblings--she was stern and serious while Brandon and Lyanna were wild. They had the wolfsblood and it seemed that his eldest daughter had been spared even being touched by the untamable spirit her brother and sister held.

Lyanna came behind him, eyes glittering with joy and a smile stretched across soft red lips. There was no denying that Lyanna and Eddara were sisters--they looked so alike. But what was muted in Neddie was amplified and beautiful in Lya. The youngest Stark daughter had dark hair like the rest of the family, but her curls were always loose, her smile easy and carefree, her grey eyes striking and flashing with passionate emotions. Even from a distance, Neddie could see her sister visibly shake with excitement, struggling to keep herself from sprinting across the room and leaping into her beloved older sister's arms.

The two great lords bowed and spoke gruffly for a moment, Jon Arryn thanking her father for arriving and her father answering that he was glad to be welcomed so warmly. Robert Baratheon towered over all, even over her lord father, a tall man by normal mens' judgments. The Baratheon heir bowed his head in greeting and then, as every time, his bright blue eyes landed on Lyanna and wouldn't move from her. Neddie squared her shoulders and said nothing.

Finally, after the mandatory introductions were made, her father stepped past her dearest friend and stood in front of her, stern grey eyes meeting their counterpart and, for a moment, no words passed eithers' lips.

"Eddara," her father managed at last, voice gruff, but his gaze softened ever so slightly and Neddie allowed herself a small smile.

"Father."

Before another word could be spoken, Lyanna's self-control seemed to break and she skirted past Robert, not noticing how he stared at her, and threw her arms around her sister's neck.

"Neddie!"

"Lya." Her smile widened, but Neddie was sure no one, not even her father, could see it past her little sister's head. It was so good to see her beloved younger sibling again, after all this time, and to hold her in her arms. The warmth that spread through her was surely enough to melt the ice most of the Vale believed to run through her veins as it did her father's. She wasn't home, but she was as close to it as she'd been in years.

Already, the servants were being quietly dismissed and returned to their positions while the Stark household guard filed in, positioning themselves along the wall and within view of their liege lord. Some were more than willing to stay gathered, eager to hear why the great lord of the North had come all this way. Surely, not to simply visit.

But their chance was dashed--Jon Arryn waved them away and settled a hand onto Robert's shoulder, insisting he leave as well. This was a matter for the Starks. He left reluctantly, swearing to himself, looking longingly over his shoulder at Lyanna as she smiled at her sister. Neddie knew, from the slight furrow of his brow and the twitch of his lips downward, that her father had also seen the glance.

"How are you, Neddie?" Lyanna asked, reaching for both her sister's hands. A smile spread easily over her face and Neddie squeezed her sister's fingers. She knew that no matter where Lyanna would be forced to sleep, the sisters would end up hidden beneath the blankets in the elder's bed, giggling and talking long into the night as they had when they were girls. Lyanna had changed, Neddie noticed; her sister was a woman now, tall and slender and more beautiful than ever.

"I'm well," she answered, glancing between her sister and her father. "It is good to see you, father."

"As it is good to see you, Eddara." It was a formal answer, and, while Rickard Stark did not show his affections easily, his children knew how fond of them he truly was.

"But I am not here for my pleasure, nor yours, Lyanna," he scolded, but his tone only made the younger cling all the tighter to her sister. With a sigh, Rickard turned away from them, his hard gaze meeting Jon's.

The Lord of the Vale gestured towards the gardens and the Stark girls watched their father fall into step with him.

"We will see you at the feast tonight!" Jon called over his shoulder. Neddie and Lyanna were left alone.

Giggling, Lya linked her arm with her sister's, grinning from ear to ear. "Tell me everything, Neddie! Leave nothing out!"

With a wide smile of her own, Neddie obliged.

**Author's Note:**

> [ And thus I end the first chapter with a mild cliffhanger!
> 
> Next chapter: Neddie has a bad feeling about this, Robert is going to get drunk, and the Starks come to visit.
> 
> I've had this idea for forever, but only now have really been comfortable posting it! I'm actually really proud of this and reviews/comments would be great! ]


End file.
